


Chips And Wishes

by CrashDevil (cjdevlin19)



Series: A Hard Ten Series [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety, Cheating, F/M, Past Sexual Assault, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 12:32:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17386532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjdevlin19/pseuds/CrashDevil
Summary: Six months after the events of Honesty In The Aftermath, y/n is having trouble holding herself together. She’s sure she’ll make it through, but it’s getting harder every day.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~“That’s not how this shit works, y/n. You might be under more stress right now because of the anniversary comin’ up but it didn’t just start, did it?” You looked away from Dean. “The panic attacks you think you’re hiding? Those have been going for a month. The insomnia started back when we were still sleeping in Sammy’s living room. That, uh, thing you do where a sudden noise makes you freak out? That’s been happening for four months. Every piece of this is getting worse, not better.”“But it will. It will get better. It has to,” you whispered, looking up into his eyes.





	Chips And Wishes

**AN- I’m so sorry about how this series went from fluff to extreme angst. I don’t know what happened. I mean… I’m sorry. It doesn’t get any better in this part, just different kinds of angst. I’m sorry. I really don’t know what else to say.**

 

**Story Warnings** : symptoms of PTSD (anxiety, nightmares, depression, insomnia),  **18+**   **HERE BE SEX, DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE A YOUNG’UN!,** mentions ofprostitution, oral sex (fem rec), mentions of drug addiction, mentions of past sexual assault, cheating (I’m sorry)

* * *

Your eyes were glued to the calendar on your desk. Two blank days waiting to be X'ed out before the day with the plastic chip taped to it. Two more days and it would be six months. Six months of hard work and exhaustion, not just from Sam, but from you and Dean and Andy. Two days, and you’d present that chip to your boyfriend in front of his family and friends and others from the Program at a big party you started planning at the beginning of June. You should have been happy, but the closer you got to the date, the more you were reminded of another anniversary. **  
**

You pushed past it, then; the pain he put you through, the shame and fear. And most days you were fine, because you loved him and he loved you and it wasn’t like he  _meant_ to hurt you. Most days you thought of Sam fondly. You were proud of his hard work and progress. You loved him.

Some days, though, it was hard to find the will to think the fond thoughts. Some days, all you could think about was the look in his eyes when he sunk his teeth into your thigh, the dark timbre of his voice as he told you to stop talking about Dean, the blood-and-cum-covered panties you’d thrown away in the trash can of that cheap motel, the way your body stung for weeks, and the fact that you weren’t sure how long the bite marks and bruises lasted because you dressed in the dark of your closet for three weeks.

You pushed past it, then, so why was it getting so hard to push past it, now?

You knew it was some mild form of PTSD, it must be. It wasn’t like it was interfering with your life, or anything. Except when you couldn’t sleep, or when you had the nightmares, or when you stayed home instead of going to dinner with Charlie because you couldn’t get that night out of your head. Because you couldn’t get  _yourself_ out of your head.

The panic attacks were a new addition, recent to the past month since the planning began, but they weren’t too bad. You were fine. Most days you were fine.

With two days to go before the six month anniversary, you were  _not_ fine. But you’d fake it. You’d fake it until you made it. You could do it for Sam.

“Hey, princess.” Dean’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you smiled up at him. You’d started to think of Dean as your ‘Emotional Support Person’ due to the calming influence he had on you. Dean was the only one who could pull you out of your panic attacks without even knowing you were having one.

“Dean, what are you doing here?” you asked, standing and bouncing over to him to wrap him in a tight hug.

“Just came to see how the party planning’s going. Wanted to make sure everything’s covered. Cake,  _pie_ , pizza, a depressing lack of booze, banners, music, all that,” he said, running his hand soothingly through your hair.

You leaned into the soft touch and sighed, contentedly. “Got it all covered, D.” You looked up into his eyes and smiled, lightly. “You could’ve texted.”

“Yeah. Maybe I just wanted to see your gorgeous face, y/n.” He smirked and bit his bottom lip and you felt your body heat up in response, so you pulled away from the hug. That was happening more and more often and you didn’t need the guilt that came with lusting after your boyfriend’s brother.

“Well, that’s a sweet sentiment, Winchester, but some of us have real jobs so… next time, send a text.”

“Okay,” he said, pulling out his phone. A moment later, you phone buzzed on your desk. He smirked as you picked it up. A new message from Dean graced your screen.  **We should get a drink tomorrow since sundays a sober event**   You bit your lip and sighed.

You wanted to. God, you wanted a drink in a nasty dive bar more than you wanted anything, but you were positive it was a bad idea. Last time you were drunk around Dean, you kissed him, and that was when you were just  _physically_ attracted to him… now? Now, you were attached, emotionally invested. It was asking for trouble. It was stupid… and you wanted to do something stupid.

“Sounds good, D. Celebrate all  _our_ hard work.”

“Exactly.” He reached out and pulled you into another hug, pressing his lips to your forehead and squeezing you tightly. “I’ll pick you up at seven. Don’t go wearing makeup or anything. You’ll make me look bad if you’re  _too_ gorgeous, princess.” He winked and headed out of your office.

You watched him get into his Chevy from your window, the little dark spot of anxiety starting to bloom into a vortex in your chest as your emotional support drove away. You took a deep breath and made yourself go back to work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stared at the ceiling in your bedroom. You couldn’t sleep… again. Every time you started to get close, some noise or something would force a jolt of adrenaline through your body and sleep would elude you once more. You were exhausted, having laid in bed for hours, but eventually, you gave up. You made your way to the kitchen and went to make a pot of coffee, only to find that Charlie had left just a tablespoon of grounds in the can. A sudden rage filled you and you threw the can across the kitchen with a shriek. You dropped to the tile, pulling your knees up to your chest and dropping your forehead to rest against them. You pressed your fingers into your eyes. You were just tired. You weren’t losing your mind. You just needed to sleep. Everything would be okay if you just got some sleep.

“Y/n/n, what happened?”

Your eyes snapped up at Charlie’s voice and you scrambled to your feet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up. I-” You took a breath, trying to steady your heart rate. “I just… I was trying to make coffee and there wasn’t any grounds. I… I’ll clean this up and… just head back to bed, Char. I’m sorry.”

Her red eyebrows raised toward her hairline as she stepped closer. “Sweetie, you’re crying over spilled coffee. I know I joke about coffee being our heroin, but come on.”

You wiped at your cheeks and shook your head. “I’m fine. I’m just tired. I couldn’t sleep again. I’m just so… excited about the party, is all,” you lied, forcing a smile.

“You’re crying because you’re excited?” Charlie squeaked.

“No, I’m crying because I’m tired. I’m tired because I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep because I’m excited,” you explained.

Charlie searched your face for a few moments before nodding. “Okay, well, I put coffee on the list, but I can grab some in the morning. ‘Kay?” You nodded, gratefully. “Okay, come on. Let’s go back to bed, huh?” You followed Charlie out of the kitchen and went back to your room, lying back on your bed and hoping for just a bit of sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean showed up at a little before seven and smiled when he saw you. “I told you not to put makeup on, y/n. Now, you’re showin’ me up.”

You chuckled and followed him out to the Impala. “If I weren’t made up, I’d look like death warmed over. I’ve got bags under my eyes so big that I’d have to check them at the airport.”

Dean turned to you as you climbed into his passenger side. “You sure you wanna come out tonight, princess? You might do better to get some sleep.”

“Sam’s working, Charlie’s on a date,  _Live PD_  is on hiatus and I’m not getting any sleep, anyway, so I’d rather be with you than alone.” As Dean pulled away from your apartment complex, your eyebrows came together. “How are  _you_ not working on a Friday night?”

“Because I didn’t set up any dates. I already  _had_ one.” He winked at you and turned back to look at the road.

The bar he took you to was exactly the dark and dirty sort of place you were imagining. He got you each a whiskey and led you to a u-shaped booth in the back corner. He smiled fondly across the table and lifted his glass. “To long nights and longer days.”

“To six more months and a thousand after that,” you responded, raising your glass to touch the rim to his.

“Well, you aren’t plannin’ for the future or anything, are you?” he asked, amused, as he took a drink. You shrugged and took a drink, too. He looked around, sliding around the table to sit closer to you. “Man, it is nice to go out and have a drink with a woman without being expected to perform afterward. It’s nice to have a night off.”

You snorted. “I have  _every_ night off.”

Dean pursed his lips, his eyebrow arching high. “You and Sam…” He let the sentence drop off.

You shook your head. “Nah. He hasn’t even French kissed me since…” You gave a tight smile. “He’s just been trying to focus on other stuff… and work’s been taking it out of him, you know?”

“But  _you’d_ be okay with it?”

“Yes?” you said, pulling the glass to your lips again.

“You wanna try that without the question mark, princess?”

You chuckled. “I, honestly, don’t know.” Dean slid closer to you, again, and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, holding you against his side. “I’ve thought about it,” you continued. “I mean, of course I have… but I don’t know if I could…”

“Have you talked to anybody?” he asked, quietly.

You shook your head. “I can’t,” you whispered.

“Why not?”

“ _Because_ if I got a diagnosis, then… then, it’s real. I’m really fucked up, then.”

“But maybe then you could get some help.” You shook your head. “Y/n, you’ve been workin’ so hard on Sam’s health, you’ve been neglecting your own.”

You smiled, tiredly, polishing off the rest of your whiskey. “I’m fine, D.”

“No, you’re not.”

You laughed, sarcastically. “No, I’m not. I think I’ve got Post Trauma shit in my head. How fucked up is that, huh, that the man I’m in love with gave me PTSD? That I can’t sleep most of the time, that when I  _do_ sleep I have nightmares of Sam, and the only time I feel even close to okay is when I’m with  _you_? It’s gotten so much worse this month, Dean, but I can’t go get a fuckin’ diagnosis because I know that any doctor I see is going to tell me to leave Sam, because he’s my trigger event and he’s the reason I keep flashing back to the night he hurt me. I know he’s not really like that, when he’s sober, he’s different, and I love him and if I had to leave him, I know he’d relapse.”

“You can’t stay with him just because he might relapse if you leave.”

“That’s not- I’m staying with him because I love him. All this crap in my head will get better after the party, I’m sure of it.”

Dean sighed, setting his glass down on the table and licking his lips as he turned to you. “That’s not how this shit works, y/n. You might be under  _more_ stress right now because of the anniversary comin’ up but it didn’t just start, did it?” You looked away from him. “The panic attacks you think you’re hiding? Those have been going for a month. The insomnia started back when we were still sleeping in Sammy’s living room. That, uh, thing you do where a sudden noise makes you freak out? That’s been happening for four months. Every piece of this is getting worse, not better.”

“But it will. It  _will_ get better. It  _has_ to,” you whispered, looking up into his eyes.

Dean leaned forward, running his fingers through your hair and letting his hand rest at the base of your skull. “I hate this. You deserve so much better than Post Traumatic Stress and fear. You deserve more than pecks on the lips. I mean, you’ve worked your ass off for him. You deserve more.” His fingertips gripped at your scalp.

A tingling heat flooded the space between your thighs and you squeezed them together in an effort to combat it. “Dean…”

“You want me, y/n. I can see it in your eyes everytime I hug you, when I call you ‘princess’. It’s not fair.”

You licked your lips and reached up to pull his hand away from you. “Life’s not fair.”

Dean nodded, taking the hint and sliding away from you. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, D. Nothing you said was  _wrong_. I just can’t… Maybe if we were drinking what Meg drinks, huh?” You forced a smile.

He chuckled. “Yeah, you had  _no_ inhibitions after Meg got a hold of you.”

“Yeah, you had inhibitions  _for_ me.”

“Don’t know what I was thinking,” he said, smiling. “I’m gonna get us another round. You wanna grab a pool table?”

“Sounds great.”

Three hours later, you and Dean were stumbling out into the parking lot. He pressed you into the driver’s side door of his Impala and you clinged to his dark blue plaid. “We’re too drunk to drive,” he whispered.

“Uber?” you suggested, staring up into his eyes.

“No. No drunk chicks in Ubers, remember?” He licked his lips and leaned down next to your ear. “We’ll just climb into Baby’s backseat and… sleep it off. I’ll drive you home in the morning.” In your drunk state, you couldn’t help but snort at the idea of  _sleeping_ the liquor off. There was no sleeping, but you could be totally okay with lying in the backseat of Dean’s car with him sleeping it off. He pulled the back door open and slid in, grabbing your hand and pulling you in to lie next to him. He pulled you hard against his body, making you moan before you could stop yourself. Dean groaned, lightly, into your hair. “Can’t be makin’ noises like that, princess.”

“Sorry,” you breathed out.

“Close your eyes, y/n. I know you think you can’t sleep, but I’ll keep you safe, even from the shit in your head.”

You sighed, closing your eyes and getting comfortable, certain you’d be staring at the back of the front bench seat while Dean slept behind you before long. Somehow, though, you didn’t open your eyes again until the sunlight was stabbing them through the windows of the Impala. You blinked a few times to get your eyes used to the light and did your best not to wiggle your ass against the man behind you as you stretched. “Hangover?” he asked, stretching as best he could behind you.

“Nothing a Lumberjack Special couldn’t fix.” You sat up and turned to him with a rested smile. “Buy you breakfast?”

“Wanna fix your makeup first? You look like a raccoon.” He smiled, softly, sitting up.

“I’m a well-rested raccoon. I slept through the night, Dean,” you announced, happily, wiping at the underside of your eyes.

“I noticed.” He yawned and shook his head. “You looked peaceful as hell. No nightmares?” You shook your head. “Good. Maybe I’ll make you pass out in the back of my car more often.”

You scrambled over the back of the front seat into the passenger seat and grabbed your purse from the floorboard. As you fixed your makeup, you didn’t voice the idea that Dean, not his car, was the reason you were able to sleep. You pulled out your phone and bit your lip at a ‘ **Don’t wait up** ’ text from Charlie and a ‘ **How was your night with my brother?** ’ text from Sam. “Sam text you, too?”

Dean looked over your shoulder, reading the text. “Yeah, yours was a lot nicer than the ones he sent me.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled as handed you his phone and stepped out of the back to get in behind the steering wheel.

**‘I’m trusting you with her. Don’t make me regret it.’ ‘If you fuck her I’m gonna destroy you’ ‘Why haven’t you answered?’ ‘Why isn’t she home?’ ‘Dean, where the duck are you?’ ‘I swear to fucking God, Dean, if you fucked her, I will never forgive you.’**  You blushed and handed the phone back. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell him we fell asleep together.”

“Don’t lie. Soon as you lie, it becomes a big deal. We didn’t do anything. We just slept.” He twisted the key in the ignition and pulled off. “Why don’t you give him a call, tell him we’re putting some bacon in our systems and he can meet us at Denny’s if he wants?”

You nodded and dialed Sam. “Hey. Good morning.”

“Hey!” Sam’s voice was slightly relieved but mostly anxious. “How was your celebration?”

“It was good. Dean taught me how to play pool, but we, uh, drank too much to drive home so we passed out in his car. The seats are actually really comfy.”

“Yeah, they are. You, uh, so you just-”

“We just slept, Sam. We drank, we played pool, and then we slept. Now, we’re going to get breakfast. Wanna meet us at Denny’s?”

“Yeah. The one by Dean’s place?”

You looked over at Dean. “The one by your place?” Dean nodded. “Yeah. The one by his place. See you there in twenty minutes?”

“Yeah. I love you, y/n.”

“I love you, too, Sam. Bye.” You hung up and looked over at Dean. “He’s gonna meet us there.”

“Yeah, that’s good. It’ll ease his mind a bit to see you’re, you know, clothed and not all fucked out.” You shook your head at his words. ‘Fucked out’ was such a Dean thing to say… and unfortunately for you, it sent a jolt to your clit as the words forced an image of Dean fucking you to flash through your mind. You ran your hand through your hair and looked out the window as guilt started to gnaw at you. You were a terrible person. You couldn’t even French kiss your boyfriend because neither of you knew if you would freak out about it, but you were fantasizing about riding his brother like a prize stallion.

Dean wasn’t  _just_ your boyfriend’s brother, though. Not anymore. Not after six months of working on Sam’s sobriety together. Not after a hundred conversations about the future. Not after a hundred and eighty days of constant check-ins between the two of you and support, both silent and verbal. Dean was pretty much the only thing holding you together these days and it was getting more and more difficult to ignore the pull you felt, especially knowing he wanted you, too.

You were a terrible person.

Dean sat on the opposite side of the booth and smiled at the server as he handed you two menus. “Uh, we’ve got a third person coming, so can we get another menu?”

“You think our health-food fanatic is actually gonna eat here? Please. Black coffee and some toast,  _maybe_ ,” you said, smirking.

“Hey, they do an egg-white omelet he likes, sometimes,” Dean teased.

The sound of the door opening drew your attention and you turned to the noise on instinct. Seeing Sam made your heart race but you covered it with a deep inhale and a smile. You stood to let him slide into the booth. You had to have the outside of the bench. It was the only way you could concentrate. You’d be trapped if Sam took the outside. “Good morning!” you greeted, cheerfully. Dean hid the way his jaw clenched by hiding behind his menu, but you caught it. You weren’t sure  _why_ he was upset, there were so many potential answers to that question, but you caught it.

“So, how much did you guys drink?” Sam tried to sound amused, put a slight upturn to the side of his mouth, but you could feel the same rage in him that you’d seen in his texts to Dean.

Your chest started to feel tight, but you maintained your smile. You could fake it. You had been faking your way through panic attacks for a month. “Oh, I stopped counting after the third round of shots, but there were a couple of beers in there too at one point.”

“Four whiskeys, two beers each. We couldn’t drive after that, no matter how good our tolerances are. Which… we ended the night coherent enough, so I think our tolerance is pretty good.”

“Not coherent enough to answer your phone,” Sam argued.

“That’s my fault, babe,” you lied. You had to defend Dean from Sam’s rage. “I thought we should leave our phones in the car, since we were trying to have a night for ourselves. You know, no work, no drama. I’m sorry Sam. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

Sam smiled, trying to dispel some of the tension in his shoulders. “Okay. I… I guess I understand that.” He reached out and wrapped his arm around you, tucking you against his side. “I’m glad you had fun, y/n.”

“It’s not like she gets a lot of that,” Dean muttered.

“D.,” you whispered.

Dean smiled and gave a shrug. “Sorry. You just work a lot, princess. You don’t get a lot of free time.”

Sam tensed at Dean calling you ‘princess’ and a spark of fear rushed down your spine. Sam didn’t like the nickname, never had, but he knew that it was a mark of your friendship with his brother and that your friendship was a fact of life now. He wouldn’t say anything about it, so why were you scared?

You ordered food and ate it slowly, still tucked into Sam’s side. That is, until a banging in the kitchen made you jolt, squeaking loudly. You stood, suddenly, unable to control the flight response. You took a deep breath, looking from Sam to Dean, both of whom had worried looks on their faces. “I, uh, I need to use the bathroom,” you deflected, rushing for the restrooms.

Unfortunately, the bathroom stall you rushed into only made you feel like the walls were closing in on you. It took far too long to calm your heart rate and breathing. You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted to punch the wall until your knuckles bled, but more than anything you just wanted to not exist.

When you finally pulled yourself out of the restroom, you walked slowly toward the table. “Oh, bite me, Sam.” Dean’s growly voice hit your ears, causing you to stop in the little hallway connecting the front and back room. “She is a grown-ass woman and she’s allowed to have a few fuckin’ drinks. Your sobriety doesn’t make hers a necessity.”

“Neither of you needed to get so drunk that you couldn’t take her home, Dean.”

“You don’t get to decide that! You don’t own her.”

“Of course I  _don’t_ , but she’s my girlfriend and she’s-”

“Look, she’s freakin’ out in the bathroom right now because she’s under an enormous amount of stress and she-”

“There are other ways to deal with stress and-”

“What, like sex, ‘cause she ain’t gettin’ any of  _that_.”

“How do you-”

“She’s the best friend I’ve got other than Cas, Sam. She  _told_ me. So, you get to release that pent-up energy at work, but she’s gone six months without. Seems fair considering all the work she puts into you every day,” Dean said, sarcastically.

“Dean…” You could hear Sam’s exasperated sigh. “It’s complicated, okay?”

“Oh, ‘ _complicated_ ’. Yeah. Don’t think that’s a bit of an understatement, Sammy?”

“She’s… she hides it well, but she’s kinda scared of me. I can’t… I can’t even kiss her without her getting… we’re not there, yet.”

“An’ how you plannin’ to  _get_ there? You have to start somewhere. You have to  _do_ something for her.”

There was a long silence as Sam seemed to contemplate the same as you… could you handle it? Could you handle anything more than hugs and chaste kisses? You took that as the right time to come back to the table. “Hey, sorry I took so long. There wasn’t any tissue in the stall so I had to wait for someone to come in to pass me some,” you lied like it was second nature and, in some ways, it  _had_ become second nature.

Your food was cold so you just picked up the last piece of bacon and started to munch on that. Sam licked his lips and turned to you. “Uh, so I was thinking that I could drive you home. I know you came with Dean, but-”

“But you’re my boyfriend, Sam. I’d love for you to take me home.”

You finished your bacon, paid for everyone’s meals and walked out to the parking lot. Dean wrapped you in a hug, neglecting the kiss to your forehead that he’d give you if it were just the two of you. “I’ll see you Sunday, princess.”

“I’m fine,” you whispered in his ear before you pulled away and went to climb into the cab of Sam’s pickup truck. You could see, from the look in Dean’s eyes, that he didn’t believe you were fine. Sam nodded at his brother and climbed behind his steering wheel. Once he was on the road, he reached out and clasped your hand in his. It was sweet and you made yourself find the fondness as he entwined your fingers together and drove toward your apartment with one hand on the steering wheel. “So, what are your plans today, babe?”

“Well, I don’t have any work until tonight, so I was hoping that you and I could spend the day together. Maybe watch a little  _Orange is the New Black_  or  _Game of Thrones_?”

“Curled up on the couch with my man? Sounds like a perfect day.”

You were halfway through a season two rewatch of  _Game of Thrones_  when Sam leaned over and kissed your cheek. Your heart rate jumped, knowing he was going to try to kiss you. Gotta get there somehow, right? He tucked his hands under your ass and gently pulled you into his lap, looking into your eyes with a mix of fear, love and lust. “This okay?” he whispered. You nodded. “Can I kiss you, y/n?”

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his. Your lips parted over his and he let his tongue snake out to caress your bottom lip. Carefully, he brought his hands to cup your face on each side, fingers brushing the hairline at the base of your neck. You could tell he was moving slowly, apprehensively, and you appreciated it so much, but you couldn’t help thinking it’d be better to just pull the bandage off and get it done. You closed your eyes and leaned into the kiss, pressing your body against his. You could do this. You could do this. You could do this.

A deep groan from Sam made you flash back to him rutting into you with his pinpoint pupils and you shivered, pulling back. You didn’t open your eyes, knowing you’d see pain in Sam’s face. “Just gimme a minute,” you whispered.

“We… we don’t have to, y/n.”

“I said, just gimme a minute.” You took a deep breath and leaned forward again, pressing your lips to his and grinding yourself down into his lap. You could do this. His hands went to your hips, thrusting his erection against your core. You whimpered, letting your tongue caress his, trying to learn the taste of his mouth again. You could do this.

You kept your eyes closed as you pulled your shirt off over your head and unclasped your bra. You kept your eyes closed as Sam lavished your breasts with ardent attention, your hands in his hair as he gave licks and kisses to your nipples, making certain to keep his teeth from even touching your skin. You kept your eyes closed as you ran your hands down the front of his grey V-neck shirt to grab his belt buckle. You could do this.

Sam’s hands covered yours. “No.” Your eyes snapped open, focusing in on his blown out hazel ones. “No. Just let me-” He shook his head, gently pulling your hands away. “- _if_ you’ll let me, I just want to take care of you, y/n.”

You swallowed. It took a minute, but you eventually nodded. His lips twitched into a soft smile and he pushed you to lie across the couch. He slid your jeans and panties off, every motion slow and soft and calculated. When he kissed his way across your mound and softly slid his tongue into your slit to brush against your clit, you gasped, loudly. You hadn’t even touched  _yourself_ in months and to have Sam’s long, warm, wet tongue against your clit was shocking. Your noises seemed to egg Sam on, because he pressed in closer to your core, licking more voraciously, his tongue slipping into your entrance as his nose bumped repeated against your clit.

Your eyes squeezed shut, an ‘Oh, god’ tumbling out of your mouth as he started to hum happily, the tension in your body coiling tighter and tighter. He shifted and licked your clit between his lips, sucking hard to push you over into your orgasm. As your pussy clenched and fluttered against nothing, your mind conjured a vision of brilliant emerald eyes looking up at you from between your thighs. Your eyes opened and you made yourself look down at Sam.

Sam, not Dean. Sam, your boyfriend, not his brother. Sam, the love of your life, who you worked so hard to keep on the wagon. Sam.

Sam sat up and wiped his hand across his mouth, looking down at you with unspoken questions in his eyes. You made yourself smile. “That was… that was great, Sam.”

“Yeah? I mean… you’re good?”

You nodded. “You sure you don’t want anything in return?”

He shook his head, grabbing your clothes from the pile next to the couch and handing them to you. “This was for you, y/n. I…” He swallowed and looked away. “I know things have been… things haven’t been perfect between us, things have been really hard for the last six months and I know how hard you’ve been working and I know that I’m probably the worst thing you could’ve imagined for a boyfriend, a junkie whore, but-”

You put a hand up, stopping him from speaking. “Sam, stop. I love you.  _Former_ junkie, soon to be  _former_  whore, none of that matters.”

“But what I did to you matters.”  You looked away, working to get your clothes on as means of distraction. “Y/n, we haven’t talked about it for months. You’re obviously not doing very well and-”

“Sam, I don’t  _want_  to talk about it. That’s why we  _haven’t_ talked about it.”

“But you have to talk about-”

“I talk to Dean. I know you don’t want to hear that, but I talk to Dean if I have to talk and most days I don’t want to  _fuckin_ ’ talk, Sam!” You slid off the couch and stepped into your pants, buttoning them and heading for the kitchen. Sam followed, slowly, his shoulders slumped. Your breathing was coming in heavy as you shook your head, trying to battle the panic attack before you freaked out too far. “Look, I appreciate you trying to make me feel better and everything and I’m so happy that we can do more than kiss again, but right now is not the time to bring up the fact that you raped me, Sam. It’s just  _not_. I…”

You took a deep breath and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “I love you. That’s what’s important. I love you and you love me and…” You twisted open the bottle and drained half of it before turning to him. “I just don’t wanna talk about it.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered and you weren’t sure if he was apologizing for trying to get you to talk to him or if he was apologizing for raping you, but either way, the only response you could give was, “I know.”

You finished your bottle of water and scratched your nails across the plastic wrapper a few times before tossing it at the recycling bin. “Um…  _Game of Thrones_?” you asked, wondering if he was going to let it go and just let you continue your sweet day together.

“Yeah. I’d like that.” You let out a sigh of relief and followed him to the couch, curling up into his side and letting him wrap his arm around you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, today’s the big day, huh?” Charlie asked, handing you a 20 oz Deadpool mug full of coffee and whipped cream.

“Yeah. You’re gonna be there, right?”

“Oh, yeah. A sober party for your boyfriend with his family and a bunch of male escorts and former junkies? That sounds like… I’d rather be at the Red Wedding. I don’t  _wanna_ go, but I  _will_.”

“Thank you. It’s not gonna be like the Red Wedding, I swear.”

“Believe it when I see it, sister.” She took a drink of her coffee and avoided looking at you. “You gonna be less stressed after this is over?”

You shrugged. “Hopefully.”

“That sounds confident.”

“Confidence and I are friends, no longer. We only had a work relationship before, anyway.”

“Look, I’m just gonna come out and say it, you need to talk to a shrink,” Charlie said, suddenly. Your eyes jumped to hers, a mix of anxiety, fear and indignation welling up in your chest. “These problems aren’t just stress and you aren’t gonna be okay after-”

You stood, suddenly. “Not you, too, Char. I’m  _fine_.”

Charlie slammed her hand down on the table, loudly and suddenly, and you jumped, squeaking pathetically as adrenaline forced scared tears from your eyes. She immediately jumped to her feet, wrapping thin arms around you and shushing you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry, y/n.” You crumbled in her arms, taking both of you to the floor. “This is what I mean, y/n/n. This isn’t stress.”

“Doesn’t matter.” You made yourself take a deep breath. You made yourself pull your body from your best friend’s arms and stand. “I can do this, Charlie. I can handle it. It’s… not as big a deal as you think.”

“You just dropped like a sack of potatoes because of a loud noise and you think it’s not a big deal?”

“Look, if Tony Stark can save the world while dealing with PTSD from almost dying in a wormhole, then I can live my life just fine,” you snapped.

“You aren’t Tony Stark!”

“No, I’m  _real_!” you shouted. “And I’ve  _really_ been handling this for months and I am fuckin’ fine, Charlie, and I don’t want to talk about it and I don’t want you to argue with me about it!” You bit your lip and shook your head. “Whatever. Whatever, Charlie. You do whatever you want and let me do the same.”

You stomped out of the kitchen, grabbing your keys from the table by the door and heading out, ignoring the redhead’s huffing breaths as she watched you leave.

You weren’t expecting her to show up at the hotel ballroom that you’d rented to hold the party. You could have sworn she was too upset to let it go. But she showed up, making her way to Dean, who was over by the buffet table with a plate piled-up with sliders, chips, pickles and dip. You focused on making sure everything moved smoothly as the party started, specifically curated playlist playing over the PA system you rented, waiting for everyone to show so you could give Sam his chip and celebrate.

“This is a really great get-together,” Anya, one of the people from Sam’s Monday morning meeting, said walking up.

“Thanks. It, uh, only took six months to plan,” you joked.

“Well, you’ve done a great job. For… I mean, after what he’s done…”

Your eyes snapped to hers. “Done?”

“Well, you  _are_ the girlfriend he’s talked about hurting in group, right?” You looked down, eyes focusing on her fingers twiddling with a green and gold pendant. “I mean, don’t you wish-”

“I don’t put much stock in wishes,” you dismissed.

“Well, I’m just saying-”

“I have to get this next playlist going, Anya. Why don’t you go get yourself a soda?”

Your eyes followed Sam across the ballroom as Anya stepped away. He was smiling, talking to other people from the Program, everyone was congratulating him and he seemed so at ease, but when a short, brunette woman walked in, he tensed and excused himself from the conversation he was in to greet her. You were astonished as his hands went to work, signing to her in what you recognized as ASL, which she returned.

_“What are you doing here, E?”_

_“Your father mentioned it the other day and I thought I’d come. It’s a big deal.”_

Sam seemed to heave a heavy breath.  _“It is important, but-”_ He looked around and you dropped your eyes so that he wouldn’t see that you were eavesdropping on his conversation. When you looked up again, he had continued signing.  _“-here. You have to leave.”_

_“S, I’m not going to leave. I can keep a secret.”_  Your eyes went wide at ‘secret’. Secret?  _“It’s not like I could talk to her, anyway.”_

You looked away again. Something told you that you didn’t want to see the rest of their conversation. “Hey, kiddo, you okay?” John asked, walking up to the podium where you stood. You nodded. “You look… you look good. Have you lost weight?”

You looked down at yourself. Your shirt was baggy, your pants held on with a belt. You weren’t thin and you didn’t ‘look good’ but you’d definitely lost weight since the last time John saw you a month before. Stress had affected your appetite. “Couple pounds,” you responded, quietly. “Who’s that with Sam?” You tried to keep your voice even as you asked it, but John’s eyes looked on with pity as he turned to look at Sam.

“Oh, that’s Eileen. She’s a nurse at Northwestern, takes care of Adam.”

“Oh.” You couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Does she… is she friends with Sam? ‘Cause he’s never mentioned her to me.”

“Uh, they talk a lot when Sam visits Adam, but I don’t know if they’re ‘friends’,” John answered.

Your mind recalled the sudden increase in time Sam spent at the hospital with Adam over the last two months. He said it was because he needed to focus on Adam’s condition so that he wouldn’t end up in the same condition. But turning to look at Sam and Eileen, how he was standing, how she was looking up into his eyes… there was something there… something between them.

You turned your attention back to what you were supposed to be doing. There wasn’t any time to worry about Sam and Eileen. Everyone was there, you had to kick off the party. You hit pause on your music and picked up the microphone attached to the PA. “Hey, everybody! Can I have your attention, please?” Everyone turned to you. “It’s 7:30, so I’m gonna call it for stragglers. Welcome to the party. This is a major deal, as so many of you intimately understand. Sam has been clean and sober for six whole months!” Partygoers applauded and you forced a smile. “It has been a  _long_ six months, full of blood, sweat and tears and it has taken the love and support of everyone in this room to get him here, but… Sam, babe, will you please come up here?”

Sam gave a shy smile and approached you, looking down at you with a smile. You pulled your shirt out of the way and dug your hand into your pocket, pulling out the six months chip. “I have had this taped to my calendar for six months, knowing that I was going to be able to give it back to you today. I knew…” You took a deep breath and lifted the chip up in front of you. “I knew that you could do this. I knew you could get back here. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for, Sam, and you show it every day.”

He smiled and gingerly took the chip from you, wrapping you in a tight hug as he shoved the thing in his pocket. You could see Eileen over Sam’s shoulder and you hated the look on her face. She was eyeing your embrace with jealousy. You handed Sam the microphone and stepped away. “Uh, hi, I’m Sam, I’m addicted to heroin,” he joked. “No, but seriously, I’m really happy that you guys are here to celebrate this with me. Last time I made it to six, I had a pizza and a cookie-cake with the word ‘month’ spelled wrong. Y/n says she wanted to go big because it’s the last time I’m ever gonna need a six month celebration… and she’d know. She’s the reason I made it this time. Her and my brother, Dean, and my sponsor, Andy, they’ve all been my rocks. Y/n and Dean were more focused on my recovery than anything else for the past six months and I’m hoping, now that I’ve made it through, they can start focusing on their own health again.”

You swallowed and looked down. Your own health was not important. “Anyway, go ahead and have some cake, have some pie before my brother eats it all, there’s pizza and burgers and the best virgin daiquiris you’ve ever tasted. Have fun, guys.” Sam dropped the mic to the table and turned to you, hands running through your hair as he looked down at you. “I mean it. You got me here, babe, now you need to focus on-”

“Me. I got it. Why don’t you go mingle, babe? I saw Bobby and Ellen walk in while you were on the mic.” Sam nodded and walked away toward the buffet as you turned the music back on. You waited a few minutes before walking away from the podium, making a beeline for Eileen. You waved at her to get her attention and smiled when she turned to you. You spoke slowly as you signed, knowing it’d been years since you used ASL and that she might have to read your lips to catch your words.  _“Hi. I’m y/n. You’re fucking Sam, aren’t you?”_

Her eyes went wide.  _“What?”_

_“You aren’t stupid. Yes or no?”_ She just blinked at you a few times before looking behind you to where Sam was talking to Bobby. She took a deep breath and nodded.  _“How long?”_

_“Two months.”_

You bit your bottom lip and blinked away your urge to cry.  _“Thank you,”_  you signed before walking away. You tried to slip out of the ballroom without anyone noticing. You didn’t want to make a scene, not at a party you’d spent so much time and money on. You were almost at the set of big double doors when Eileen’s voice called out over the music.

“Sam!” You turned to see her pointing at you and Sam looked from the nurse to you. He knew you knew as soon as his eyes fell on you and his expression was one of a deer in headlights. It gave you the opportunity to make it out into the hallway.

“Y/n!” You were almost out of the building when Sam ran out of the ballroom.

“Go back to the party, Sam,” you demanded, not turning to him as you continued toward the parking lot.

“Y/n, you have to talk to me.”

“No, I don’t.” His hand closed on your elbow as you started to open the door and you jerked away from him. “Don’t you fucking touch me!”

Sam pulled his hand back and put them up in a nonthreatening manner. “Just wait a second, y/n. Just… please.”

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “I can’t fuckin’… everything I have taken in stride. Everything I’ve just been okay with… your job, your addiction, what you did to me… I have let go of so much and you-”

“Let me explain,” he interrupted.

“ _EXPLAIN_?! You’re gonna  _explain_?!”

“ _Yes_! Please, just-”

“You think you can explain cheating on me? You think, after making myself be okay with you sleeping with any woman with a couple hundred dollars to throw your way because that was just money and sex, you think you’re going to explain  _that_?!”

“You checked out, y/n! You focused so hard on my sobriety that our whole relationship became about this fucking night!” he shouted, making you cower momentarily before you let your anger push you past the self-preservation instinct and you stood tall in front of him. “We could barely touch anymore, and the only thing you ever wanted to talk about was my fucking recovery. I’m more than just my sickness, y/n.”

“I wonder why I would have focused so hard on you staying clean, Sam! You think maybe I was terrified you might get high and rape me again, Sam? You think that might be why I could barely touch you? Maybe that’s why I checked the fuck out?!”

“She looks at me like a person, y/n! She doesn’t see a sex object or a junkie, she sees  _me_!”

“Yeah, so did  _I_ ,” you started and Sam opened his mouth to respond, but you cut him off. “Until you threw me on your bed, pulled my clothes off and raped me in a drug-fueled haze. After that, I couldn’t help but see the junkie… and I made myself be okay with it. I made myself be okay with  _all_ of it because I love you. I made myself be okay with kissing the man who raped me because I love you. I made myself be okay with the nightmares and the panic attacks and the fuckin’ PTSD because  _I FUCKING LOVE YOU_!!” you screamed and he looked away.

You looked around him to the double doors to ballroom where Dean, Anya, Charlie, John and Eileen were watching. “Does she know?” you whispered, as tears started rolling down your face. “Does she know the monster you become when you get high?” You looked up, tear-drenched eyes catching sad hazel ones.

“No. She doesn’t know,” he answered, quietly.

You nodded. “Then, you better stay sober… because you wouldn’t want another woman who couldn’t help but see the junkie.” You put your hand on the door and pushed it open, rushing for your car.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean watched from the ballroom doorway. He caught every few words, but he caught enough to know what y/n and Sam were fighting about. Sam was cheating on y/n with Nurse Eileen, who had always looked at him with heart eyes. “You fuckin’ dumbass!” Dean stepped out into the hallway, anger and empathetic hurt tugging him down. “You  _cheated_ on her?!”

“Oh, fuck off, Dean. This is the opportunity you’ve been  _waiting_ for!” Sam snapped back. “You’ve been wanting to get in her pants since the night you  _met_ her!”

“Yeah, definitely, but she was too loyal to you, even after everything you did to her!” Dean stomped forward, getting in Sam’s face. “Do you even realize what you’ve put her through? The PTSD, the nightmares, the anxiety, the fuckin’ panic attacks? She’s  _sick_ , Sam, and that’s on you. That’s because of  _you_! She’s sick, she knows it, and she’s still loyal to you. And for you to take that loyalty, take that love, and toss it away for  _her_ , for a woman who hasn’t done a single thing to deserve you?” Dean pointed at Eileen and shook his head.

“I have  _never_ wanted to break your face as much as I do right now,” Dean snarled, before brushing past his brother and into the parking lot. He rushed to where he saw y/n park her car earlier and pulled open her passenger door, sliding into the seat and wrapping his arms around her without a word. She turned in his arms and sobbed into his chest.

“What did I do?” she cried, grabbing at Dean’s red overshirt and pulling him closer to her.

“You didn’t do anything, princess. This is on him. This is his fault.”

“But I did everything right!”

“Yeah, baby girl, you did. You did do everything right, but… sometimes everything goes…” Dean tightened his grip on her. “Sometimes my brother makes really shitty decisions. I mean, look at… look at the drugs, but you… you did everything. You didn’t deserve this.”

There was a long moment of silence before she pulled back, looking into his eyes with her tear-reddened ones. She sniffled. “What do I even d-do, now?”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know, princess. I…” He licked his lips. “Whatever the hell you want. You can do anything. Any man other than my idiot brother would be happy to have you in his arms, y/n.”

She shook her head. “No… I don’t think so. I couldn’t… I couldn’t even keep a drug addict prostitute happy with me.. And he’s the only one that’s ever wanted me, so-”

“That’s not true. Come on, you  _know_ that’s not true.  _You_ rejected  _me_ on Friday, remember? The only reason I’m not kissin’ you breathless right now, y/n, is because my brother just broke your heart and I’m not gonna capitalize on that pain.”

She sniffled. “I wish I could go back and pick  _you_ for Thanksgiving instead of Sam.”

Outside the car in the parking lot, a veiny woman with a green pendant around her neck smiled. “Done.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were sitting on the couch, Charlie’s laptop across your thighs, the  _Bobby’s Boys_  website pulled up and  _Game of Thrones_  paused on the TV. “What?” You looked around, deja vu hitting you hard. You set the laptop down and stood. “Charlie?!”

“What? Did you pick somebody already?” she called from her bedroom.

“‘Pick somebody’?” you whispered, pulling your phone off of the table and unlocking it. “No fuckin’ way.” You blinked at the date on your phone. November 2, 2018. You shook your head. “What? What the fuck is this?” You pulled up your contacts. No Sam. No Dean. Last call in your call log was a call from your mom. The call about Thanksgiving. The call that made Charlie hand over her computer and insist you hire an escort for the weekend. The call that started everything. Somehow, you were back at the beginning.

You took a deep breath and picked up the laptop again, dialing a number and putting the phone to your ear. “ _This is Dean. Leave a message with your information and I’ll get back with you._ ”

“Hi. I need someone to pretend to be my boyfriend for my grandma’s Thanksgiving weekend. I don’t want any of the illegal shit, just a date. If you aren’t busy the twenty-first through the twenty-fifth, I’d really like to hire you.” You left your name and number and set the laptop and phone down on the coffee table. You licked your lips and smiled at the date. You had no clue how it happened, but you weren’t going to question it. You had a chance to prevent the major problems; the relapse, the rape, you could even save Adam from Ruby’s bad smack… and you could pick the Winchester who wouldn’t hurt you.

You bit your lip as your cell phone started to ring.

* * *

**Yeah, I Buffy’d this shit. Sue me. This is the end of _A Hard Ten_. However, the story will continue (or start over, rather) in a new series coming soon–  _A Hard Ten: Wishverse._**


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